After the long and exhausting process of the birthday ceremony—nobles lining up endlessly to greet me, each bowing with carefully practiced smiles and offering extravagant gifts—I could finally breathe. The overwhelming attention had felt suffocating, as though every eye in the grand ballroom had been trained on my every twitch, my every breath. It was all so much, and the wight of the golden tiara on my head only added to the burden, specially the wight of my gown. I just wanted to flee to my room, throw myself into the soft pillows, and sleep for a whole day.
Despite everything, most of the nobles had been very kind. Their smiles—though some are forced—held no malice, only etiquette and politics. I suppose that was better than mockery. My small hands clenched the silk of my dress, my tiny legs swinging off the edge of the grand throne like chair that had been especially made for me, the birthday girl.
